


Wayward

by abnegative



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angel Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Porn With Plot, Smut, angel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abnegative/pseuds/abnegative
Summary: Seungcheol needs someone to watch over himTW - suicidal ideation, alcoholism
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	Wayward

**Author's Note:**

> Last year for Jeonghan’s birthday I wrote the little Drabble at the start so this year I decided to elaborate on that.
> 
> Might continue (more often than yearly) if you want to read more leave a comment.
> 
> Happy Birthday Jeonghan

Seungcheol stumbled out of the bar and rubbed his nose. His eyes didn’t want to adjust to the streetlights glare and he wandered along the uneven footpath toward home.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself as he tried to light a cigarette in his enibriated state. He leaned against a tree and tried again and again, the spark finally flaring against the tobacco, smoke filling his nose and lungs.

The angel rolled his eyes as he watched on from the branches high aloft over the man’s head. He wished he hadn’t let curiosity get the better of him but it was too late now. This one was trouble but he was absolutely enamoured with the dark energy surrounding him. This one was trying to come home, too soon, and before his time. His aura was despondent and grey as ink as it surrounded him with abject sadness.

He moved between the treetops as the man walked the earth below. The angel followed him along a busy street and had to hit the earth when the man turned toward a lofty bridge. His wings, white and gold, his pride and joy folded and concealed beneath a soft leather jacket.

He followed from a distance as he realised they were walking out onto a rail bridge high over water. The wind whipped cold around the angel, sending his hair into a flurry, the angel trying to gather it away from his face. He watched the man, sniffling softly, climb over the rail and lean out dangerously, his hands barely clinging to the rail.

This wasn’t the angels area of expertise. But he couldn’t let him come home. It wasn’t his time. He approached the man slowly and cautiously as his boots crunched the gravel below.

“What do you want?” The man asked and the angel turned his palms up in deference. “Got a light?” He asked and when the man looked up at him he beamed a gentle smile as he stared into his wretched eyes. They were empty, as if they were dead already, dark circles below them visible even in the darkness.

The angel watched the man slowly move back behind the rail and dig in his pockets for the lighter. “Want to sit?” The angel asked and the man nodded. He did want to sit. He was so very tired.

Seungcheol woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a lingering dream; of an ethereal being with long light hair smiling at him with an empathy he’d never felt before. He wished it wasn’t just a dream, he wanted desperately for it to be real, because for the first time in a long time he might actually have something to live for.

“Jeonghan,” the angel said sternly from his place on the throne, “you shouldn’t have let him see you.” “I couldn’t help it,” the beautiful long haired creature whined as he grovelled coyly to the prince of angels. “He’s just so sad Prince Joshua .... he’s really trying to come too early.” “I know,” the prince said as he smiled down at his most beautiful but troublesome brother. “And the damage has already been done. He’s seen you and you must accept your punishment.”

The angel called Jeonghan stayed on the marble floor in an overly false display of deference to his younger brother. He waited to hear his penance and hoped it wouldn’t be too harsh.

“Guard him,” Joshua said. “Go to him and keep him safe until he begins to heal. Stop him from trying to come home before his time.”

Jeonghan cursed silently as he arose and nodded. A fitting punishment and one not to be taken lightly. He was a guardian now and he would fulfil his duty and make sure the miserable man was kept from a death premature.

“I’ll take your wings until you succeed. You can have them back when you fulfil your promise.”

No, Jeonghan screamed inside his mind, but it was too late to argue. His Prince had taken them and the burning pain was secondary only to the desire to have them back. He would succeed, save the man, give him something to live for. Either that or he would bring him home and never fly again.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The light in his eyes was secondary only to the memory burned into his brain. Soft fair hair, lithe slim shoulders, eyes of shimmering smoke. It was almost as if he had wings protruding from his back but no, Seungcheol must have been mistaken, that couldn’t be.

It couldn’t exist. It was a product of his alcohol soaked mind and tenuous mental capacity. Even if angels existed why would one come for him? He’d done nothing to deserve it. His life wasn’t worth worrying about.

A poor performer at school, orphaned at sixteen, barely on the edge of homeless. His life was worthless. He made minimum wage in a job he hated and the only thing that kept him going was the promise of the warm embrace of an alcoholic stupor before starting all over again. Working to drink, barely making it to work so he could drink, drinking even when the drinking wasn’t working. A cycle he didn’t know how to break; an inevitable wheel of constant self destruction, an extermination in slow motion.

He retched and swallowed down the acrid bile in his throat before stumbling from his bed to the shower. It was cold, he hadn’t paid his gas bill, and he didn’t even care. The pricking needles of icy water didn’t even bother him. It would be nice to actually feel something. 

The coverall he pulled on over threadbare underwear was dirty but again, he didn’t care, nothing mattered. He grabbed his keys and wallet and clambered down steel stairs to the bottom floor of his building. “Morning,” he nodded to the homeless man crumpled in the corner of the stairwell. He opened his wallet and dropped a few notes into his hands so the man would be able to eat.

Seungcheol loved one thing only in his life. It was 180 kilograms of twisted steel and sang out loud when he straddled it and turned it on. The motorbike roared into life and he sped out of the undercover carpark way faster than he should. He liked to walk along the train tracks in the dark, he liked to balance precariously on the bridge and stare down into the abyss, but he was probably going to leave this world on the back of his japanese road bike. As he sped along the highway weaving in and out of cars he finally felt something. Adrenaline pounded in his veins and made his heart throb in his chest and finally, finally, he felt alive. Like he was living.

He made it to work and put his bike away around the back. “You’re late again,” his boss followed him into the workshop and Seungcheol just shrugged. “You know,” the man grabbed his arm and pulled him up, “you’re a great mechanic. If you were a better employee I’d help you out with the qualifications but you’re just too unreliable.”

His name was Mingyu and he was younger than Seungcheol. Younger, smarter, better. He _despised_ him. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be late again,” Seungcheol picked up the broom and sidestepped the man to start cleaning up the workshop.

“Try not to smell so much like last nights booze as well.” Mingyu grimaced before heading towards his office. Seungcheol ignored him. He wasn’t here to make friends or enjoy anyone’s company. He was here just to make enough money to pour back into the bars he wandered every night, enough to buy some cigarettes and fill his motorcycle with petrol. That was it.

  
  


“Mrs Kim!” he called out when he saw the elderly woman struggling with her groceries. She stopped and turned and Seungcheol swooped in to take them from her arms. “You’re sweet,” she smiled as he carried them into the elevator for her. “I’m not,” he shook his head but her eyes never lost their fondness as she watched him carry them all the way to her kitchen bench.

He eschewed a second shower and dressed in a pair of well worn jeans. The white tshirt he tossed over his bare chest was threadbare and his leather jacket, the only thing he loved beside his bike, was butter soft under his fingertips. His hair was wild and he paid it no mind; content to let it swirl around his head like some sort of dark halo. And when his boots were laced and his wallet in his pocket Seungcheol headed out the door.

Dust kicked up like smoke from his heels as he wandered along the train line. The sun was just dipping below the horizon throwing shades of rose and gold into Seungcheol’s hair. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the glimmer of magic he could feel settling all around him. It felt like Christmas Eve when you’re five years old and the expectations of a million dreams burn in your stomach. Of course, even as a child Seungcheol’s dreams always shattered into shards of disappointment, but he still felt excited anyway. He didn’t even know why.

There was absolutely no reason for the elusive scent of wonder to be lingering in the air. There was no reason he should hear the soft sounds of giggling on every breath of wind or see whispers of wings dancing on every dandelion seed. Nonetheless he did and he didn’t want to think about why.  


Hope, in Seungcheol’s world, was a very dangerous thing.

“Hey,” the bartender eyed him cautiously as he settled down in his favourite spot. “No trouble out of you tonight.” “I won’t be here long,” Seungcheol answered as he put a few notes down on the bar and the bartender returned with a bottle of cheap scotch and a solitary shot glass.

He wouldn’t be there long. He wouldn’t be anywhere for long, not anymore, he was going to walk along the bridge again when he got drunk enough and contemplate the feeling of falling into an endless eternal nothingness. Nothing but warm black void.

Seungcheol dropped the first three shots in a row like they were water. He reached out for a handful of the bar snacks, probably more shell and piss than peanut, and looked up in shock when his hand brushed another. “Don’t eat that,” a voice said, disembodied and musical. “They’re disgusting. I bet no one in here ever washes their hands.”

When he saw him his breath caught in his throat. There was no way, it was impossible, how could this be real? A manifestation beyond his wildest imagination; a living dream come true.

“Got a light?” his voice was almost nasal but lilting and melodically beautiful. He held out a cigarette in a slender hand and Seungcheol answered with too much gravel in his voice. “Can I have one of those?” he pulled the lighter out of his pocket and put it on the bar and the man with the glowing blond hair handed him the packet.

His cheekbones were like glistening icebergs sharp in the light. The peach of his cheeks seemed luminescent in the dingy dust of the bar. And when he smiled at Seungcheol it made his chest clenched with a plethora of unfamiliar feelings; joy, peace, hope. Hope that the morning would bring something worth holding on to.

“Changed my mind,” Seungcheol ignored the packet of cigarettes in favour of his bottle. He downed one shot, then two more, but the man was still sitting there. He was silent beside him, watching, missing nothing with those huge crystalline eyes. They were dark and deep, giving him a doe eyed appeal, making Seungcheol believe he could spill all his secrets to this man and let his tears wash them away.

“Can I have one?” the man leaned over and grabbed the bottle of cheap alcohol and Seungcheol watched him take the shot. He didn’t even grimace, he swallowed the burning scotch without a flinch, and Seungcheol murmured to himself in surprise. He’d never met anyone like this before and he had no idea why he was sitting with him.

The room seemed to spin and narrow and Seungcheol tried to stand up. “Easy,” the man said when Seungcheol wobbled on his feet and stood to help steady him. Seungcheol couldn’t help but inhale the sharp clean scent of citrus cutting through the stink of the bar. “You smell good,” he mumbled and the man steered him towards the exit. “Come on,” he wrapped one arm around Seungcheol’s waist and the other held his hand, “let’s take a walk.”

Seungcheol couldn’t remember the last time someone held his hand.

“I want to go to the train bridge,” he slurred a little and the man shook his head. His hair blew around him in the breeze, white and flighty like dandelion seeds, and Seungcheol smiled at the correlation. “No,” the man held tighter to his waist as they walked along the road. “I’m taking you home. No train bridge tonight.”

“Did we meet there already?” The cold fresh air was helping significantly to sober Seungcheol up. “We did,” the man replied, “and if you can remember my name I’ll give you a gift.”

Seungcheol could barely put one foot in front of the other but he racked his brain for a buried memory while they walked. 

He remembered long light hair and a leather jacket bunched oddly in the back. A glowing aura around a slender graceful man with laughing eyes full of empathy and mischief. Listening, laughing, comfort and a sense of contentment. The wind on the train bridge whipping his hair around his face like a glowing halo.

“Jeonghan?” he asked and the man nodded. The night turned warmer as Seungcheol felt slim fingers entwine with his and he couldn’t ever remember holding someone’s hand before. But he remembered the name.

_It was definitely Jeonghan._

“How do you know where I live?” Seungcheol was now only slurring a little and Jeonghan smiled at him gently. “I see you. I see you all the time, giving money to the homeless man, helping your elderly neighbour, being kind to people. I see you get ready for work, I see you fall asleep, I see you throw up.” Jeonghan squeezed his hand even tighter as they headed up the stairs. “I see you cry Seungcheol.”

“I’m not kind,” Seungcheol stared at the ground as he searched for his keys. “You have trouble recognising kindness even in yourself.” Jeonghan’s answer rocked him to his core. 

“I can see it in you,” he opened the door and Jeonghan followed him into the tiny apartment. “That’s why I’m here,” Jeonghan kicked off his shoes and sat down on the couch in the dark. “I’m here to teach you.”

“What makes you think I want to learn?”

Seungcheol’s face was writ in confusion and skepticism but Jeonghan wasn’t deterred. He just held his hand out for Seungcheol, an invitation to join him on the couch, and the man was fast to acquiesce.

“I’m going to be your reward. It’s not your time to go yet Seungcheol, I don’t know why yet, I just know I have to make sure you stay.”

Jeonghan wrapped his arms around Seungcheol, fingers light on the naps of his neck, and tears brimmed in the man’s eyes. “It hurts,” he said and Jeonghan frowned. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He slung a leg over Seungcheol’s lap and the heat between them magnified. When Jeonghan bent down and pressed their mouths together, tongue dancing across the seam of Seungcheol’s lips, it felt like pure magic. The man sighed and relaxed and Jeonghan took the moment to his advantage, licking deep into his mouth, the sensation all damp heat and low tingles.

For the first time in a long time Seungcheol wanted something other than the black void of nothing. He wanted wet heat, hard muscle and sharp bones, skin trembling under his fingertips. He wanted to wring soft sighs of pleasure from the beautiful man in his lap.

“Touch me,” he said suddenly, urgently, “touch me please.” He pulled desperately at his clothes and Jeonghan leaned back to help him. His jacket landed on the floor and his tshirt soon followed and Jeonghan’s did as well. When Seungcheol ran his hands down the smooth planes of Jeonghan’s back he wondered at the feel of the scar tissue between his shoulder blades. “What happened?” he murmured as Jeonghan bent to kiss him again. “Not what but who,” Jeonghan answered before standing to lead Seungcheol to the bed. “You.”

Seungcheol slid backwards onto his bed and drank in the sight. Jeonghan dropped his pants into a pile and stood naked in the dim light surrounded by a backlit glow. Seungcheol wasn’t sure where the light was coming from; maybe from a streetlight outside. He had no time to wonder as Jeonghan pulled at his jeans and stripped him naked before caressing his legs and moving between them.

Seungcheol’s breath stuttered as Jeonghan traced the lines of his body, up his legs, across his stomach. “I don’t deserve this,” he said and Jeonghan chuckled as he tossed his hair back over his shoulder. “A gift is given without need for recompense. This is a joy for me.” Jeonghan bent his head and took Seungcheols cock into his mouth. It was wet, so wet, and Seungcheol moaned as he stiffened and arched his back.

If this was a gift then it was better than every Christmas and birthday combined.

It wasn’t even the arousal, the pure pleasure coursing through his veins. It was the touch of another man and the comfort in his warmth. The pleasure was just a bonus.

He bucked his hips and trailed fingers through long blond hair, marvelling at the heat emanating from Jeonghan’s scalp. He’d never felt anything like it. The only thing warmer was his mouth drawing up and dragging down on Seungcheol’s erection making him shiver from the feeling. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone, voice stark in the silent darkness. 

He slipped his thumb into Jeonghan’s mouth beside his cock and stroked the inside of his cheek. Jeonghan looked up at him, teary eyes and drool soaked chin sparkling, and shuddered. He wanted to be inside him. He wanted to feel the heat and clench of his body, skin soft and pliant, eyes glassy and blank. Joy bubbled up in his stomach as he realised he wanted something. Wanted to feel, to push and to grasp, to scratch and bite and fuck and _feel_.

“Stop,” he pulled at Jeonghan’s hair and the man crawled up his body. He was hard too, cock flushed and hot when it pressed against Seungcheol’s, making him groan at the sensation. “I want you,” he mouthed into Jeonghan’s neck, “want to be inside you.” He kissed gently at first, hot and slow, tasting his skin so sweet and damp with sweat.

“Please...” the plaintive caught in his throat, halfway between a sob and a sigh, and Jeonghan smoothed his hair down and nosed against his jaw. He reached between them and stroked Seungcheol harder, heavy in his elegant hand, drawing little puffs of breath out of the man’s mouth with every stroke.

“Is that okay?” Seungcheol didn’t know how to be gentle until this night. He never knew how to use his words, how to weave them soft and light, how to ask for what he wanted. “It’s okay.” Jeonghan’s answer was swift and he moved to straddle Seungcheol’s hips. “Do we need-“ Seungcheol’s question was cut off by a clenching blaze of sensation as Jeonghan, hot and tight and wet, sank slowly down onto Seungcheol’s throbbing cock.

It was sensuality made incarnate as Jeonghan rode him. Their bodies pressed close, slowly at first, tension building as they rocked against each other. Seungcheol never felt this kind of sensation before, firing through his whole body, setting every nerve ending aflame from his cock to the pit of his stomach. “How are you wet?” he heard himself mumble as he grasped at Jeonghan’s back being careful to avoid his scars. “I told you,” the glimmer in the man’s eye was mischievous as he pressed their noses together. “It’s a gift.”

Silence surrounded them as Jeonghan rolled his hips faster. He leaned back and arched impossibly, gracefully, and Seungcheol bent his head to take a nipple between his lips. Every single inch of Jeonghan’s skin he tasted was a little sweeter than the last. “You’re not real,” he couldn’t help whispering as his hands roamed everywhere and the tight clench of Jeonghan’s body brought him to the edge. “You’re not real. You can’t be real....”

He wanted to be selfish, to fuck up into Jeonghan recklessly and take, but it wasn’t his nature. “I want you to cum,” he said as he teased one nipple with his lips, “please, I want you to feel good.” “I do feel good,” Jeonghan said and when Seungcheol looked up into his eyes he believed him. He nibbled at his neck, sucking a bruise into the juncture of his shoulder, sliding his hand down Jeonghan’s dripping cock to make the man sigh.

“Feels good,” Jeonghan moaned, his voice lilting and devoid of any exertion. It was so hot Seungcheol had to close his eyes and concentrate. He stroked him slowly, slick and slippery as his hand slid up and down, relishing in every little noise he drew out of Jeonghan’s perfect peachy lips. 

When the man’s hips stuttered and his moans grew urgent Seungcheol knew he was close. He kissed him harder, tongues sliding languidly against each other, swallowing every sound he was making. “Please,” Seungcheol didn’t even know what he was asking for until he felt it. When Jeonghan came it was quiet, gentler and prettier than he expected, head tossed back as steaks of cum painted the space between them. The clench of his ass clamped down even tighter and Seungcheol couldn’t hold on. He let himself go, fucking up into Jeonghan’s shuddering oversensitivity, sucking the mess from his fingers as his orgasm flooded his body. 

It felt so good, tasting Jeonghan on his tongue, feeling his tight heat clenched around him. He came hard, wet and willing, body immediately falling down a tunnel of pliant relaxation. He buried his face in Jeonghan’s chest and let the other hold him, despite their mess, despite the sweat and heat surrounding them. He nuzzled into Jeonghan’s chest, gave in to the fingers carding gently through his hair, and didn’t even realise he was crying until his cheeks were soaked with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out a sob and Jeonghan just shushed him. “Don’t be. Let it out.” Somehow he rolled them flat onto the mattress, sliding off Seungcheol’s softening cock, wrapping the other in a hug. Seungcheol pressed himself back, as far back into Jeonghan’s warmth as he could get, his body seeking the comfort and craving the touch. It felt incredible to be held, hands in his hair, arms around him holding on like he’d never let him go.

But he must have.

When morning light broke through his broken blinds Seungcheol reached out with grasping hands. He found nothing but a dip in the mattress and the soft scent of feathers blown on the wind. “No,” he whispered as he tried frantically to grasp on to the slivers of last nights dream. Golden hair, eyes like embers, fingers slender and pretty and firm enough to make Seungcheol weak. He looked under the blanket and he was naked but clean and he resigned himself to the sad reality of last night being a dream.

His mind was clearer than it had been in so long. He usually woke after drinking himself senseless but this morning he found a half empty glass of water on the bedside cupboard. He finished it and rolled over and his hand brushed a piece of paper making him sit up in surprise. 

“ _I’ll be back,”_ was all it said and a single feather lay under it. It was blindingly white, gilt edged with gold, and Seungcheol twirled it in his fingers before pressing it to his lips.

It wasn’t a dream. The song in his heart began to sing and he smiled at the thought of the man coming back. It was only then that he noticed the pillow laying on the bed. Small scorch marks dotted the pillowcase making a rough outline of a circle. Strange, he thought to himself, though not stranger than him waking up happy and clear headed and with anticipation instead of nihilism resting in his heart.

He carried that feather all day long in his pocket, resting against his chest, right over his heart.

“Well done,” Prince Joshua said, serene and regal, as Jeonghan knelt before him. “He smiles today as he works. He often stops and checks for the token, finding comfort and contentment in its presence, it is a very promising start.”

“Your approval honours me,” Jeonghan’s reverence was barely transparent, a little  sarcastic, but it made the Prince laugh anyway. “Here,” he handed the angel handfuls of feathers, loose and gilt and gold.

“The rest?” Jeonghan asked hopefully and Joshua shook his head. “You’re not done yet. The task isn’t complete.”

Jeonghan didn’t mind. Even without the lure of his wings he would have returned to the man anyway.


End file.
